


Blue Moon

by Perelka_L



Series: Incomplete/Unfulfilled [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil is Inhuman, Faceless Old Woman knows, Good and Confused Boyfriend, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perelka_L/pseuds/Perelka_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil woke up and knew he was the God of Night. Sometimes he remembers it. Rarely, but he does and then he forgets about this one person to whom he offered his human heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of continuation to Sandstorm. You don't have to read it but you might not fully understand entire work if you at least didn't read the prompt on kink-meme, which is in Sandstorm's description.  
> In short - Kevin and Cecil are Gods of Desert, one controls it during Day and other during Night. They were captured by Strex/Governement in order to sontrol their Voices.  
> I wanted to throw Carlos/Cecil into Sandstorm but they weren't officially together and I'd rather play with canon.
> 
> Beta'ed by extraordinary mais-non@tumblr

It was maybe a few minutes past midnight when the moon reached the highest point in the sky, but no surprise there. The moon was as moody as the sun when it came to rising and setting hours.

Cecil is wide, wide awake. He shouldn’t be, but he is. He was Cecil, but not only.

He awoke as if from some kind of deep sleep – not like when people scream or shout or even jerk suddenly up when consciousness suddenly floods their minds, no. It was much more gentle and somehow it took less than a second. Cecil woke up and the God of the Night woke up too.

It was like realizing something important, breaking walls of one's own solipsism, being more than aware of everything around, everybody around. Cecil needed to breathe in, out, slowly, just to relieve the feeling. It ached, not unpleasantly, but it did. He looked to the left.

Carlos was sound asleep, his breathing calm and steady. He didn’t move an inch since the moment Cecil saw him last time, before falling asleep. Even a faint, pleasant smile was still on his lips, the one he sent Cecil. His hand was still gripping Cecil’s, with slightly less force, but the touch was there, faint like memories from last night.

Cecil smiled at the sight, but then started to move up slowly, carefully, in order to not awaken his lover, movements slow and measured. His feet found slippers lying abandoned on the floor, their fluffiness well masking any sounds of creaking wood.

The Faceless Old Woman passed him his bath gown muttering something about power cuts, and indeed, Cecil couldn’t see those little numbers indicating the hour on his microwave he wouldn’t also see if not for the awakening.

The night was cool, slightly colder than usual. Cecil went out in front of his house, violet eyes scanning flat horizon. Everything was dark, only lights visible in the distance were coming from the Radon Canyon and the Glow Cloud levitating above the Night Vale Elementary School.

Cecil let go of himself, let go of his humanity, just for a second.

He let himself feel every dune of sand in the darkness as if it was his own skin, every little star visible above him being his every thought, exact shape of moon was formed inside his bones and soft wind was his breath, steady and cool, moving sand grains like a dust in the air. And as quick as he let himself feel it he came back, his body clad in a bath robe and slippers, flesh and blood and bones limited by particles of his human form.

Maybe he was terrified. Such a long time since he felt the desert as himself, even lacking the ever present warmth dissipating with each second, a memory of a sun in past and promise of heat in the future. Maybe his cage made him smaller, maybe this body weakened the true spirit of the Night, maybe…

Maybe he knew that going back into the embrace of sand and everything underneath meant letting go everything that he loved. Maybe he was terrified.

Gods were supposed to stick to their domains, their life becoming nothing but. But Gods were not supposed to surrender to human will, lose memories of whom they were and what they were. They were not supposed to love anything that wasn’t connected with themselves. They weren’t supposed to love being a radio presenter, love a perfect outsider, love their prison.

A tiny scorpion appeared out of somewhere, sensing its master distress. One, and later the others appeared and came closer. Three of them, two black and one gold, stopped just in front of Cecil’s fluffy slippers and clicked nervously, tiny pincers moving rapidly. Cecil kneeled down and put his hand on the floor, palm upwards, in an inviting gesture. The Scorpions for a second stopped moving, maybe stunned that he, the Night of the Desert, of all would pay attention to them. One black one came closer and climbed onto it, tiny limbs pressing on delicate human skin. Rest soon followed and Cecil sat down on the stairs leading into his home. He put his hand on his lap and scorpions, maybe feeling a bit braver now, started to slowly explore the human form that bound their God. Little claws were moving up and down, getting tangled in the bath robe’s soft fabric, getting lost in fluffiness of slippers, sliding on his hair. Cecil closed his eyes with faint smile, lost in the familiarity of touches.

He would be able to feel the same thing if he was one of the desert. Not with scorpions, of course, those too tiny in comparison to millions and millions of grains of sand that made up his skin in the darkness. Sometimes only humans were felt, coyotes, big creatures. Never the smallest, the ones crawling under his skin like tiny bacteria.

And he could feel it all in this human body, every movement. He could see less than the eye of moon glaring into the void but more, being able to touch the skin but pay close attention to every pore of it, everything that was under.

A bit like the time when Carlos took a bit of his blood and showed it to Cecil under a microscope, purple creatures moving here and there under their eyes. Carlos added somethings from tiny probes he kept in the laboratory fridge and showed him what those little creatures could to do invaders, chasing them, never ceasing until they were consumed.

Cecil was fascinated then. Now he realized that humans were a bit like those bigger somethings, able to poison and live and thrive on purple blood. His blood.

A sickness that needed to be pushed out by force.

A Scorpion stopped on his cheek, distressed, sensing Cecil’s stream of thoughts. Cecil opened his eyes and looked at the scorpion’s tail, the only thing he was able to see, sting filled with toxins able to release him from this fragile body in little time. Maybe less time than the Sheriff’s Secret Police needed to get to him. Even less, a power cut may have effectively paralyzed the entire town.

A Sting trembled just in front of his eye. His eyelid closed on reflex.

“Cecil?”

Both Cecil and the scorpions froze at the sound of that voice. Cecil carefully turned his head, so the scorpions weren’t visible.

“Carlos…?”

Cecil wondered about humanity, his double nature, but he didn’t think about Carlos. He would be able to tell the City Council that he was alright with being a journalist and an ancient deity able to control cities with sound of his voice without his meds. He wondered if he would be better getting back to desert, being able to live during nights as Night, as was his birthright. He didn’t think about Carlos.

“The Faceless Old Woman woke me up, she accidentally sat on that moaning sofa and I wondered where you…”

Carlos stopped both talking and moving closer to Cecil when he noticed the scorpions, black on his face, ready to strike him; golden on his collarbone, just near his artery other black on his wrist, moving restlessly. 

“Cecil…” Carlos’ voice was a quiet, breathy whisper, one he used when he was completely terrified. “Cecil, what…”

Scorpions moved away, pushed by thought, gathered on Cecil’s lap. Cecil lowered his head, biting his lip, trembling.

He was angry. At himself for being so selfish. He was scared. Of what Carlos would say. He was terrified. Of how Carlos would react. He didn’t lie to him, after all, godly conscience appearing and disappearing and appearing by night cycle, length of the day, moon phase. But it was Carlos, the Scientist, the Outsider. And Cecil had no idea what Carlos would do with him, to him if he ever knew.

If he ever knew that Cecil, that kind of geeky radio presenter who liked adorable cats and purple and mysteries was the immortal God of Night, one of the two rulers of the Desert, the true creator of Night Vale that was now. 

The God of Night who loved him more than his own freedom.

Carlos sat down next to him, keeping distance, his eyes flickering between scorpions and Cecil’s agonized face. He slowly extended his hand and touched Cecil’s arm, carefully, as if he was a scared animal.

“I’m sorry. It was selfish.” Cecil said silently, his usually stable voice trembling, cracking. Like the time when Carlos nearly died. When Carlos was nearly hurt. Now Cecil nearly did the same. Anger boiled in his veins, tears threatening to spill. Scorpions moved down his legs rapidly and hid under the sand, pure reflex kept even after centuries.

Carlos waited. Watched as Cecil hid his face in his hands. Finally moved closer to embrace his boyfriend when the scorpions disappeared from sight.

“Cecil…” He started but stopped when he realized he had no idea what had just happened. As Cecil hugged him back, hiding a wet face between Carlos’ neck and shoulder, Carlos tried to think about everything, first coldly and logically, then trying to use something he called Night-Vale-logic. Somehow nothing came to his mind in either case.

It was easy to die in Night Vale, population working hard towards their deaths but Carlos never heard about anyone trying to take their own life by themselves. Scorpions didn’t act that way naturally – and Carlos knew how Cecil’s voice could affect townspeople – maybe scorpions counted too? Still, even during his year and few months spent in Night Vale he never heard about any suicide. Even in archives, lives were taken away but not a single person was ever reported. Maybe it was Sheriff’s Secret Police, maybe they were covering it up, maybe… 

“You’re cold.” Carlos blinked at the voice. It was again clear and the face that faced his – he was so lost in thoughts that he didn’t even notice when Cecil calmed himself down – was calm and if not visible red rims around purple eyes and skin he wouldn’t say that Cecil broke down.

And indeed, Carlos was cold, wearing only pants he grabbed while being hurried by The Faceless Old Woman. 

“A bit.” He agreed. “Night’s cold, colder than it should.” Carlos shrugged, hugging Cecil closer, seeking out body heat, but Cecil’s body was as cold as night’s air. 

“Let’s get back to bed.” Cecil suggested, taking Carlos’ hands and rising up, pulling him. Maybe he will manage to avoid the topic, maybe… Carlos went back on his feet, grasping Cecil’s cold hands.

“First tell me what happened. How… What… What even happened?” Cecil trembled. Carlos, maybe not as perfect as he was at first but so worried, so caring… Cecil never really deserved him. 

Carlos shouldn’t love someone who lied, hid out of lack of trust.

“Forget it.” Cecil murmured and Carlos was about to open his mouth to say something. “I _beg_ you, forget it.”

They moved slowly, locking the door behind them. They undressed and hid under the covers, hugging, hands finding each other, breaths mixing. 

“Will you tell me, one day?” Carlos asked later, just before Cecil falls asleep, in this exact moment when his breath slows down, when only his third eye is half-open, when his grip is loosening. 

“One day, maybe…” Cecil whispered, voice strained. He falls asleep barely few minutes later and Carlos waits. He turns his head when he heard a sound and sees The Faceless Old Woman watching them, standing in the door to their bedroom that Carlos was pretty sure he locked. 

“He will forget, as all those times before. Don’t bother trying to figure it out. I’m afraid this is all beyond your comprehension.” She says, her youthful voice echoing in Carlos’ ears – and Cecil didn’t even stir, despite the energy in her voice. “Just be here for him. Night brings dangerous ideas to its head. Night is spontaneous, Night is blood spilled. Watch your Night. And not that night.” She moves her hand towards the moon, visible in the window. “And not that night either.” She now points at them, their bed. 

“The Night.” She pauses for a moment, moving her head as if she was sending him a sideway glance as if she did have eyes. 

“You may have no idea what I am talking about. It doesn’t matter. I can say though that today the Moon will rise when it should.” She leaves, opening the laptop she had in her hands and walking away, light from it lightening up the corridor before it disappears after she passes to another room.

In the morning Carlos checked. The Moon rised at 8:00 am precisely. 

The Sun appeared on the horizon only for a brief moment between 11:43 am and 12:10 pm, before it disappeared again from the sky. Carlos had no idea why the Sun suddenly decided to change its' still usual course on the sky, this day’s resembling ones from areas of Arctic circle… But he knew that The Faceless Old Woman knew. She disappeared from his home this time. At exactly 12:11 pm he turned away from the dishwasher (he was washing his favorite mug after his third cup of coffee this day) and she was casually plugging a charger into her laptop. She wasn’t there when Carlos went inside with a cup still dirty with black smudges. 

When Carlos asked Cecil what he remembered from last night, Cecil blushed and giggled nervously.

The Faceless Old Woman was right. Cecil forgot.

**Author's Note:**

> Blue Moon, for those who don't know, is when during one month moon is full twice (I didn't know it, so it's better to explain). It's a quite rare event, it happened on August 20th 2013 so quite recently. Who knows how such a thing could alter Cecil's powers?  
> Hour for moon setting was chosen for September 6th 2013 - since fic happened during first new moon after blue moon, on September 5th 2013.  
> A bit complicated, that.  
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
